Through the Glass
by Takigawa Aki
Summary: Fifteen years after the Vongola returned to their time, two imprisoned criminals are still haunted by memories of what would have been. But prison is a cruel place for dreamers. 10069 Pseudo-fluff.


Wow. It's…I don't know. This is for KHRfest, and the prompt is: _Byakuran/Mukuro - 15 years; "I want to see you again" _I have no clue how this is. Please tell. X.x It seems…slow. Drabblish. To me, anyway. Hmm.  
**Summary: **Fifteen years after the Vongola returned to their time, two imprisoned criminals are still haunted by memories of what would have been. But prison is a cruel place for dreamers.

**Through the Glass**

Time stretched on here. It stretched on and on and things never changed. The outside was vibrant and hectic and taxing and _tiring_. Here was numbness. The subtle touch of the current had long since lost any meaning. The touch of cold metal on his skin, of tubes and even of the needles had faded into himself until they were a part of him. Here he felt naked, but it was not a vulnerable exposure; here it was a soft completion, a time for relaxation, a safe escape. And yet still he longed for the outside, where pain dwelled and where people waited. Especially now he wanted out, not only with his mind but with his body, though he cringed inside to think of what his body must now be like. How long had he been here? He knew Chrome's age, but not his own. And with that he knew his. He was five years older than the last time he'd even thought about it.

Did his body age like everyone else's or was he still a child? He had a picture of himself that he believed in, that he hoped for, a picture he showed everyone when he sent his illusion of himself. But that was a picture he'd made up based on his childhood, based on his guesses of his own appearance and brief looks at his own body through the eyes of those on the other side of the glass. He knew his hair had grown long, uncut as it was, long and thick and drifting softly around him in the current like a shell. He'd become tall and slender but the musculature of his illusions was of his own design. His limbs were in truth skinny, nutritionally healthy from an IV but having never received exercise in over a decade. If he got out of here, would his body ever become what he showed to others? He hoped that it would, because it was _real_ touch that he craved, real sight and sound and smell, but he could not bring himself to imagine his humiliation if others were to become aware of the pitiful, infantile state of his body. The very thought was terrifying, and Mukuro had a lot of experience with terrifying things.

"You know, it's been a long time," that man remarked calmly. He turned his head and in his dream the trees swayed softly, brushed by a gentle wind. This was a familiar place, the stream with the darting minnows and swirling water. The sky was blue and the clouds were white. The trees thickened on either side to become woods, casting comfortable shade as squirrels chattered now and then, chasing each other up oaks and down maples.

Mukuro tilted his head thoughtfully but did not at first respond. "You haven't had this dream for a long time," he returned finally, sitting beside the man. He turned to look at him and leaned back on his palms, the grass thick beneath his hands. A little touch of violet caught the light and shone brightly while the man turned to him inquisitively, his white hair untouched by the breeze.

Neither was Mukuro's.

"You know that they still have me in prison, don't you?" Byakuran asked softly, his expression wistful. He was five years older than his memories; both of them were. Five years past the time where the past never happened. Fifteen years from when the Vongola had returned to their time and placed Byakuran in prison before he could begin his crimes, and fifteen years from when Mukuro had first _remembered_ the future and what might have happened in ten years. But now after so much time it hadn't, and yet the time was still shared by the two if only in their memories of a reality which never was.

Perhaps in another dimension across the universe it had still happened.

He could remember the softness of the couch on his back even if the touch had been an illusion of himself there, in the past that never was. The warm touch of soft lips was even stronger, always invading his thoughts, more invasive the further time got from when that should have happened and never did.

"I know," he said softly, now looking up at one of the clouds. It was wispy, eventually losing its shape to join another cloud, which later broke into two again as they went their way across the sky. "The last time you dreamed of this…"

"Was ten years go," Byakuran finished, looking fixedly at a rock while stirred the flow of water around it. "My dreams have all been different since then. I was beginning to think I'd never remember this place."

A little hum was his reply. Mukuro never stepped into another dream; they were all of that time, every one of them, that time that should have been but existed only in their minds. He hesitated to enter them and be reminded of what should have been victory but felt so close to loss. "Ten years ago," he murmured thoughtfully, trying the sound of the words from his own voice. "How do you keep track of the time?"

Byakuran shrugged. "This me never did what I was supposed to do," he sighed. "So I'm only held while they wait for me to die normally. I even have a little radio. A calendar tells me how many days have passed. If I ask nicely I can even have a board game."

That brought a wry chuckle from Mukuro's lips. "Such luxury," he breathed tauntingly. Though his body was chained so tightly his mind could wander, but the other did not have that option. He was confined. What must that do to him? He couldn't even begin to fathom it. "How do you pass the time then?"

"Daydreaming." His voice was wistful. "I don't dare to write it down or someone will read it and it won't be a secret anymore. Someone else would know exactly what happened…"

"What didn't happen," Mukuro corrected softly, leaning a little closer without realizing.

"I want to see you again."

Startled, he turned back to the man with a raised eyebrow. Byakuran seemed just as surprised by his words, but he didn't back down from them. "I said I want to see you again," he whispered. "I've tired of this. This is the only place I'll ever see you if I sit back and wait."

It took a moment for him to understand what the man was saying. "Then what are you going to do?" A sense of urgency was pounding in his chest, but it seemed oddly distant. He was locked by the determined light in those violet irides. Byakuran looked like he was going to reach out and touch him, which made him tense, but at the last moment he stopped and pulled back his hand. A touch here meant nothing. A touch here was even less real than a touch to his illusion, because then at least one of them had a real physical shape.

"I'm going to get out of here, Mukuro." He said it as a fact, but there was worry in his eyes. "They'll kill me if they find out, or if I'm recaptured after, but now is worse than death. If my choice is to stay here or to die, I will take my shot at freedom." _And you._ The words were left unsaid but reverberated between them.

For a long time he said nothing. The silence stretched on and on while the squirrels had long since stopped their noises. The breeze had intensified but the sound of the leaves was muffled as if from much farther away. Even the stream seemed to have slowed, the soft gurgling faded and indistinct. All of Byakuran's attention was on him, he realized with a small note of surprise. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

"Then what are you going to do?" he asked.

Byakuran turned his body this time so he was facing the man entirely. "I'm going to free you as well. Then I can see you. Even then I never saw your body."

A chill made its way down his spine and buried itself there at the base of his back, making him restless. Mukuro turned his head away abruptly and began to stand. "Foolish," he said simply. "You won't be able to."

"You know I will." The quiet accusation there made him wince.

"Perhaps you could." When he said it he knew he'd made a mistake. He didn't want Byakuran to do that. Though he itched for real feelings, he'd rather be in Vendicare the rest of his life than for the man sitting there to see his body as it truly was, no matter whether it could recover or not.

The dream ended abruptly. He was shocked a moment as everything went black and he jerked back, away from Byakuran's mind as he began to wake, unwilling to meet with him there. Still he felt the little touch of recognition while the man woke and remembered his dream, maybe even a touch of pleasure and…was that anticipation? It left him feeling cold.

And time kept flowing on. He didn't contact Chrome for what didn't seem to be long but could have been years. He did not manifest anywhere, only took comfort in the peace and safety of oblivion. It was darkness but his nightmares could not touch it. It was absence but his mind did not fade. It was alone but he did not let loneliness touch it. The void was pleasant in its gentle sleep.

Yet where a nightmare had never touched, it touched now. Lights flashed around him, fast and indiscernible. Sounds were gargled and distorted as his mind turned them into the screams of the lives he'd lost and lived again and again in his dreams. Shapes took form to torment him and pain took hold on every nerve of his body, searing heat and rending pain as if every nerve had been stabbed, the knife twisted and then stabbed again. Even inside of him pain took hold, ravaging his flesh and leaving him so weak he could not move. He could not remember a nightmare ever like this, yet he could not remember anything after a few moments of the torture.

But it faded as all things did with time. It did not fade to oblivion, though; it faded to awareness, an awareness that shocked him. Something soft was against his eyes and he could feel light behind it. It protected his eyes, closed for so many years, from the illumination. Yet he could feel it against his body, his skin. The feeling of the current lingered like a phantom, the only thing his body knew after so long, yet he could make out the plush surface at his back, behind his head, and the unfamiliar feeling of gravity once again. It hurt, the way anything touched his skin. His arm hurt where the IV used to be; his throat hurt where the breathing tube had been. There was no sound, not even that of water. It made his ears ring.

Then that voice. It faded a moment before returning, for a moment indistinguishable before he could begin to understand the words. "…awake now? It's been da…" It faded out while the ringing intensified, eventually backing off to make room for more words. This was a different voice, he thought vaguely. "…soon. Vitals are normal but he's very weak. When he wakes, do not tax h…"

Never had he dreamt a dream like this.

Gently the covering was removed from his eyes. He blinked and then closed them for a long moment before he slowly opened them while they adjusted to the light. It was like looking into the sun.

"I can barely see you now, but the doctor says any more light will hurt you," came a soft voice at his ear. Mukuro tried to turn his head but his neck had no strength. "I told you, Mukuro. It took a while but I kept my promise."

A face moved into view, at first too close to see entirely before it moved back. White hair, violet eyes that danced in happiness. Horror curled deep in his stomach. "I wanted to see you again."

He couldn't speak but his eyes must have told his story. Byakuran brushed his cheek softly, looking sad. "You'll get better," he said softly, "and you won't have to be ashamed anymore. I know that you're like me and this must be hard, but once you're strong again we can forget you were ever in such a state."

No, he could never forget this. His stomach did a flip as there was a light touch on his lips. No, gods, no, don't touch this skin. Don't touch this face and those gaunt cheeks. Don't touch that hair and the way it seems eternally damp. Don't touch that wasted neck, so skinny and weak. And no, no, don't draw your finger over that sharp collarbone and down that skinny, ridged chest that shows every line of the flesh beneath that it's supposed to hide. His breath was labored and his consciousness was beginning to fade again.

"Sto…p." It was all he could wrap his mouth around. His throat screamed at the abuse, at the years of disuse and the sudden absence of the breathing tube it had gotten used to. _Stop. Please._

Two warm hands took his face and there was a cool breath on his lip but Byakuran did not touch their lips together again. "You'll be better," he murmured, "as quickly as I can make you."


End file.
